


A Lifetime Of Almost

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Drug Use, First Time, Happy Ending, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Wars, a bit of angst at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" Sometimes at night, when the world is asleep, John and Sherlock catch up on all the time they lost without each other. "</p><p>~~<br/>Sherlock and John lived through centuries before they finally meet each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lifetime Of Almost

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a post on Tumblr and thanks to the amazing members of the Johnlock Fan fiction Network, I decided to write it !  
> A special thank you to Emily for being an amazing beta!
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> *** 27/02/2016***
> 
> I just finished editing this fic ! I added a few more paragraphs, change somes lines but not big changes! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

 

_Every young man or woman who turns 18 must begin the Search._

_Time will stop, and start again only when a soulmate is found._ _Soulmates will then live and grow old together._

_Each person on Earth belongs to only one other._ _The only goal of the Search is to find one’s soulmate, and one should not stop his Search for any reasons._

_Finding one’s soulmate has been and always will be the purpose of mankind._

_\- Universal Law of the Search._

.

***

**1872\. Sherlock’s Search begins.**

Sherlock turns eighteen on a rainy Sunday.

If he listens carefully, he can hear the horses and a little laughter outside, but the silence of the house takes up the space in Sherlock’s mind.

Mycroft made it clear he won’t come to see him today. His brother never really cared about this particular birthday. His own eighteenth had been simple; a rite of passage that Sherlock doesn’t remember that well. Back then he only cared about discovering the streets beyond their estate.

Today all Sherlock can think about is his parents in front of him. The three of them are silent. Most families celebrate their child’s eighteenth birthday with joy and hope. The beginning of the Search. The moment your life really begins. Sherlock stays silent and only thinks of one thing.

“Happy birthday, dear”. His mother’s first and only words today.

Sherlock doesn’t bother replying. His father is already looking out the window, clearly wanting to escape. Sherlock understands. He watches his parents and thinks, _Never would I settle for anyone else but my soulmate._

Today Sherlock’s new life begins. Today Sherlock turns the same age as his parents.

 

***

**One, 1858. Because of Mrs. Watson’s capable arms.**

John Watson loves the streets of London more than anything. He could watch the horses and carriages on the road all day, trying to imagine the people inside. Who they are, and where they’re going. There are so many things about the world he doesn’t know and it’s far too easy for a six-year-old to escape his family. Today is no exception. His mother must be at the market, looking at some new robes for his sister. John’s waited for the perfect opportunity to escape to one of the many alleys in London. He knows the city’s secrets and soon he’s right where he needs to be.

The librarian’s shop is John’s favourite place.

His father had begun teaching him how to read when he was four and John had fallen in love with books. His sister didn’t care for the art of literature and his father hadn’t forced her. Only John had taken his father’s passion and sometimes when the little boy would look up from a book he would only see his mother’s loving eyes and father’s smile.

The first time John had tried to enter a librarian’s shop alone, the man behind the desk had thrown him out without a word. It had taken a few days for John to find Mr. Husburg’s shop. The man had shown him his most beautiful books and allowed John to sit next to him for hours to read. At first Mrs. Watson had been afraid of the librarian, not knowing how a decent man could allow a boy to stay with him all day, but John’s father’s kind and wise words had convinced her. John was free to come see Mr. Husburg whenever he wanted.

“Be careful boy,” comes a voice next to John.

The boy takes a step back, staying on the road, to let the two women pass. John’s eyes follow them down the street. Their dresses are colourful and John can’t help but think that his mother would never wear a dress like that. John watches them go on and doesn’t hear the horse coming. He turns his head at the last second and before he can even think of moving two strong arms catch him.

“John!” his mother cries. The carriage passes without anyone paying attention.

Inside a four-year-old Sherlock feigns sleep as his mother looks outside.

“People should really learn to be more careful these days”.

Sherlock doesn’t respond.

 

***

**1870\. John’s Search begins.**

“Happy birthday, idiot!” John wakes up and looks up to see his sister standing at the door. She’s already wearing her new yellow dress.

“Harriet dear, language please!” Their mother enters his room to come sit at the end of his bed.

“Happy birthday, son.”

“Thank you mother.”

“Your father will be home at lunch. He went to see the horseman”

“He should have woken me up, I would have helped him.”

“I know dear, he asked me to let you sleep.” She stands up. “We will go out this afternoon, I’m sure your father wants to talk to you.”

She leaves the room and John gets ready for the most important day of his life.

His best friend turned eighteen two months ago and he has not seen him since. His parents had sent him on a journey around Europe to be sure he would meet his soulmate. Of course John’s parents can’t afford such a Search, but John is certain his father would propose to send him all over England. They have family all around the country and most people believed the Search was more successful if you travelled.

John didn’t really want to travel, if he was honest with himself. All those years with Mr. Husburg had allowed him to read about everything he’d ever wanted. John had discovered medicine four years before, and the instant he read about the art of surgical medicine he knew he had found what he was meant to become. A doctor.

Today John’s life changes, and he can only hope it’ll change for the better.

 

***

**Two, 1867. Because (sometimes) Sherlock Holmes is an idiot.**

Sherlock opens the door silently and looks at his private instructor one last time. The old man is looking at a book and waiting for Sherlock to come back from the toilet. The boy closes the door behind him and runs for the estate; free at last.

His parents had insisted he needed a proper education and Sherlock had only agreed to a private instructor at home. Mycroft had gone to one of the most prestigious schools in the country and Sherlock had feared all his life that his parents would force him to go too. Nothing annoys Sherlock more than a teacher trying to teach you knowledge you already have. At least at home Sherlock could escape easily.

The air is warm outside and Sherlock decides to travel on foot today. Lord knows it can be hard to find a carriage when you are only thirteen. Today he needs to explore the south-east of the city. A year ago he'd decided to map all of London is his mind and ever since, anytime he had the chance, Sherlock would go out and explore.

Sherlock loves to discover every street’s secrets; the people living there and their conversations. The way they behave around each other and the way their clothes and attitudes say everything about them. Sherlock could stay outside for hours, sitting on a bench, looking around and taking everything in.

Today is as usual and soon Sherlock finds a spot in a park. He sits on the grass and looks at two women walking down the alley. The woman on the right is wearing an old dress, the blue color is fading at the bottom and Sherlock can see her used shoes. She laughs at what her friend is saying but Sherlock knows these two women hate each other. It’s in the way the one on the left holds her umbrella, making sure they have space between them. Sherlock is pretty sure they used to be good friends.

Friends.

A simple word. Sherlock sees friends all the time in the street. Boys and girls, men and women. It seems easy to talk; to be sure the other person is listening and truly care about you. He sees it time and time again.

Sherlock doesn’t have any friends. Once a boy tried to talk to him during a family dinner. He wanted to see his room and Sherlock had been proud to show him his secret experiment. Nobody was allowed to know about the plants he grew in his suit of armour but the boy had run to tell his mother about the things that smelt strange in Sherlock’s room. First try in friendship, inconclusive.

“Hello." Sherlock looks up. A young girl is watching him. “Do you want to come play with me and some friends?”

“Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know, you're sitting alone.”

“I like being alone.”

“Alright, I’m sorry if I bothered you." The girl smiles lightly and turns around. Everything about her says happiness and good intention but Sherlock watches her disappear.

Friends.

On the other side of the park, John Watson waits for his playmate to come back. They need another player for their football game and she told him she saw a boy alone earlier. Maybe she can convince him to come play.

Maybe.

 

***

**Two moments, lost in time**.

An old saying says that the day you turn eighteen, you cross your soulmate's path.

On Sherlock's eighteenth birthday his parents take him to a book shop. He's allowed to choose any book he wants, and they won’t say anything. Sherlock picks up a book about famous crimes in London. As soon as his parents pay for it Sherlock opens the book and reads. He doesn’t notice the blond boy who held the door for him.

An old saying says that the day you turn eighteen, you cross your soulmate's path. Rare are the people who still believe it’s true.

On John's eighteenth birthday his sister teases him all day about everyone they meet. John doesn’t really listen to her. It’s rare for a person to meet their soulmate the first day of the Search. He goes to the city with his father and dares to tell him about his dream, about becoming a doctor. He talks and sees the pride in his father’s eyes. When a young Sherlock Holmes passes next to him, running after a dog, he only catches the young man's scent.

An old saying tells that the day you turn eighteen, you cross your soulmate's path. Rare are the people who still believe it’s true. But still, they search the crowd. They hope.

 

***

**Three, 1890. Because of a well-organised nurse.**

Twenty years.

John looks at his sleeping father and thinks. His Search had begun twenty years ago now.

John still remembers the first few years. The thrill of walking down the street, talking to strangers and going to new places. He can still feel his heartbeat going mad when girls approach him. But, most of all, John remembers waiting.

Back then, every time he began a new relationship John would lie awake at night, trying to notice if he felt any different. Older. But girls came and went and John remained eighteen. So he had decided to occupy his time the best he could, and find another purpose. First medical school and a surgical degree. Then war. The hot desert and screaming soldiers. He watched as men died, whilst others lived to carry on. He looked at multitude of stranger’s faces and forgot about most of them. None of them really mattered anyway.

But now time seems to be not enough.

His father had started aging forty years ago, and had lived thirty years before that. John’s mother had told him many times that his job would be the end of him, but Mr. Watson loved his horses more than anything. John had watched his father take care of his animals for hours and when his mother had passed two years ago, his father had begun to spend all of his time at work. It was only a matter of time before John would find himself in a hospital room.

“John, where is your sister?” His father’s voice is low and rough.

“She will be here soon father, I promise.”

“Good. Very good.” He looks at John for a second. “Why are you always all alone son?”

“My Search is not over father, don’t worry.”

“You know, it took me twenty-two years to meet your mother,” he closes his eyes and John knows he’s trying not to cry. “She was beautiful. I knew instantly she was the one.”

“Mother told me this story all the time when I was a boy.”

“I loved her so much, John.” He opens his eyes again and looks directly at John. “When you meet your soulmate you know it right away. Don’t waste your time waiting to see if you’ve begun to age. You will know it right away John. Right away.”

“I won’t wait father, don’t worry.”

“That’s my boy. I am sure your soulmate will come soon, and your life will really make sense.”

“My life already makes sense, Father. You and mother raised me to help people around me and you were the one you gave sense to what I do.”

“You are always so kind John. Your soulmate will be really lucky. Really lucky indeed.”

John doesn’t respond and lets him rest. He thinks of Harriet and hopes she will arrive soon. His father’s breathing is harder now. The nurse is due to visit him in ten minutes.

In the hallway Nurse Jacobs pushes her new patient’s wheelchair. The young man is silent. The doctor told her about some drug addiction, and it’s not the first time she’s seen an addict. People tend to do be reckless when the Search takes too long. She turns left and stops in front of the door to the patient’s room. She checks her chart one last time, just to be sure.

John thinks he heard someone stopping at the door but nobody knocks.

Probably a mistake.

 

***

**Thoughts, forgotten with time.**

John goes to war thinking about nothing but his soulmate.

Sherlock waits four, five, six years after the beginning of his Search and for the first time thinks about a seven percent solution.

John runs for his life, hears the bullets around him and hides. He tries to control his breathing, tries to calm his heartbeat. John closes his eyes for a second and tries really hard to get rid of the overwhelming fear that had taken all the place in his mind. John tries even harder not to think about the soulmate he may abandon if he dies today.

Sherlock looks around him. People are running late, waiting for someone, laughing. He looks at them and wonders if he will ever belong to this world. He looks at other people’s lives and thinks about his own. He hates himself for thinking about his soulmate who doesn’t come.

John comes back. Time and time again. He goes to fight, the same fear in his guts, and always comes back. He’s more than tired of thinking about a person who may never come anyway.

Sherlock goes to buy drugs thinking about nothing but his soulmate.

 

***

**Four, 1915. Because of an old sibling fight.**

“Sherlock would you care to explain this mess?”

“I’ll gladly tell you by telegram if you leave now, brother dear.”

“Very mature Sherlock, really.”

Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at his older brother. Mycroft stands at the door with clear disgust on his face. It’s not the first time he’s come to his apartment but last night Sherlock had quite a fight with his furniture.

“Must I remind you that we are the same age, Mycroft?”

His brother doesn’t bother responding and walks around the room. Sherlock had found the apartment ten years before and had been living there for most of the time since. Sometimes he goes to another part of the world for months. Sometimes Sherlock just needs to forget.

“I understand we are at war but you didn’t need to bring it home!”

“Are you trying to be funny now?”

“Just making a point, Sherlock.” Sherlock sighs and sits up. Clearly Mycroft is here for a reason.

“A point?”

“Men from all over England are enlisting, Sherlock, why don’t you?”

“Are you saying you want me to go to war? Risk my life? Your own brother?” Sherlock feigns shock but Mycroft continues without looking at him.

“You have very special skills that could be very helpful, Sherlock. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

Sherlock had thought about a lot of things over the past few years. After countless times where he lost himself in drugs, Sherlock had developed a certain ability to solve puzzles and mysteries. Sometimes civilians will come to ask for help in finding a missing person or solving a crime. Sherlock would rarely refuse a chance to stimulate his mind. Of course he would never tell Mycroft how much he loved it.

“You want me to go to France to do what? Crack German codes? Discover hidden ways into enemy territory?”

“Don’t make fun of war Sherlock.” This time Mycroft looks at him and Sherlock doesn’t like what he sees in his brother’s eyes. “People are dying and here you stay in the middle of what you dare call a place to live!”

“I knew you loved your country Mycroft, but this is an all new level of patriotism!”

“I’m asking you seriously, Sherlock. The government could make contact with a captain there and you could work with the armed forces. We could find you a connection somewhere safe. Within the medical field or a training camp, perhaps.”

“I appreciate your offer Mycroft, but no thank you.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes and Sherlock knows he managed to really piss him off. Sherlock doesn’t remember his brother really searching for his soulmate. As soon as he reached eighteen Mycroft had begun working with the British government and never left. He seemed just fine living alone, never aging. But then Sherlock rarely saw him showing any emotion.

“I’m only going to say it once, Sherlock. Please.”

That’s a first. It almost makes Sherlock think twice about his answer. After all, war can be fun and solving enigmas could pass the time. Sherlock looks up at his brother, ready to tell him he will think about it, but as soon as he sees his brother’s small victory smile Sherlock smirks.

“Nice try brother. But my answer stays the same. You can go win your war by yourself.”

“Fine, stay here, Sherlock. Loneliness suits you perfectly.”

Mycroft leaves without another word or glance back at him. Sherlock lays back on the sofa and closes his eyes again. War. It could have really be a nice adventure.

Kilometers away John Watson fights another war.

 

***

**Dreams and nightmares, too many times.**

John dreams of the war. Sometimes he walks in the desert without any destination in mind. He’s lost in the sand’s infinity. Sometimes he wanders in a small French village. People are running around him, screaming as they run by him. John dreams of little boys with firearms, ready to shoot the enemy. He dreams about Afghan women singing for the soldiers. He can hear their songs while walking, alone. John dreams about war and wakes up missing it.

Sherlock doesn’t remember his dreams, but his nightmares follow him all day. Most of the time Sherlock feels like his father must have; looking at a faceless person sitting next to him. He knows it’s not his soulmate, and his conscience is screaming. But Sherlock sits still and lives his father’s life. Forever eighteen, never searching for the right person. Sherlock has nightmares and wakes up living one.

John tries to forget his nightmares. They are too real, too painful. In them John’s Search never ends. He looks around all his life, waiting for the right face to appear. He travels the world and never finds what he’s looking for. So John tries to fool himself. He wants to forget the loneliness of living by himself for centuries. John tries to forget his nightmares but wakes up fearing they might be his destiny.

The few times Sherlock wakes up remembering his dreams, a sentiment of despair swallows him. He can still feel the gentle touch of a warm hand, the reassuring smile of a beautiful face. He can still hear a rough voice saying wonderful things, things Sherlock is too afraid to remember. He lies in bed and tries to erase this feeling of being complete, of belonging to someone. Sherlock dreams of the life he might have and wakes up wishing he could just go back to sleep.

 

***

**Five, 1939. Because of John’s strong will.**

John goes back to medical school.

The advantage of being almost ninety years old is that there is always new knowledge to acquire. In all the years he has been a doctor, not once has John thought about changing his profession. He loves taking care of people and nothing can replace the thrill of the battle field. In all the wars he fought, more than anything he loved helping the soldiers fighting their war. He quickly became a Captain; his years of experience were a precious gift, and his men were the best of the regiment. He knew that whatever happened on the field he could always rely on them.

Even after all these years, after fighting all these wars, John’s love for medicine has stayed the same.

But medicine changes, really very quickly. In all the decades he’s lived people have discovered vaccines, new instruments, techniques and ways of treating patients. The mental diseases are now better understood and John can easily help the soldiers who have lost their minds on the field. War can hurt soldiers in many ways, and though he knew how to stop internal bleeding or wounds, John always felt lost in front of a depressed soldier. How can you manage to reassure a soldier who’s certain he’s going to die the minute he steps outside?

Today it’s the third time he’s enrolled in medical school. When he got his first degree he had been shipped to war almost immediately, and nothing is the same as training in combat. He learned next to his companions the true meaning all of those years in class and hospital rooms. John would always remember the first time a soldier arrived with a missing hand in his tent. That was when John realised in war, you can’t hesitate for a second.

He had needed to take some classes right before the Great War and he had learned so much more than just medical treatment. In all the years he’d lived John had seen the nature of war change too. He always had to learn new ways to fight, new ways to protect his men, and his country. The Great War showed John how cruel mankind can truly be. War had made John the man he is.

This time school has changed too. Despite his apparent age he doesn’t fit with the people around him. He looks at his class and remembers he’s been eighteen for almost seventy years now. This generation is not his; he can’t become friends with these people. Most of them have just begun their Search. John only wants to forget his own Search, he doesn’t need to hear all those boys and girls talking about their potential soulmates. They’re all full of hope and dreaming about a better tomorrow.

John had stopped hoping a long time ago.

“Welcome, students.” The teacher stands and looks at them. “During this semester you’ll be studying the past ten years’ medical innovation. Any questions?”

“Yes professor,” a young girl says at the back of the room. “Will we actually test these innovations during class?”

“I’m sorry but no. This is a theory class, so for experiments you will have to come back next semester.”

John can hear students’ sighs around him and he smiles. He used to be like them, wanting to practice and do something useful with his knowledge. He looks at the door and considers leaving. He could find another way to get to know the new equipment. He doesn’t need to sit here four hours a week. He only needs to get in touch with an old professor and maybe he could get a private class. Somewhere he won’t have to tangle with students.

But then what?

John closes his eyes and tries not to think about what is waiting for him outside this classroom. Harriet had disappeared years ago, running away with her soulmate in France. John rarely gets news from her, but he likes to think she’s happy. He thinks about his small apartment. It’s not the most welcoming place in London. The army had gave him a place to stay and John was too afraid to start making the place his home. He doesn’t want it to feel like home.

_Christ, I really miss the war._

No, he could do this. He reads the newspaper like everybody else. He knows Hitler is gaining more and more power and he may find himself at war very soon. He needs to be ready and this is the easiest way. John looks back at the board and begins writing down the schedule information.

Outside, waiting in front of the school, stands a very nervous Sherlock Holmes. His dealer had told him he’d be there in no time but the shaking is getting worse and worse. He needs his fix now.

But what Sherlock Holmes really needs is a help which doesn’t come.

 

***

**Anniversary, one in a lifetime.**

When John turns one hundred years old, he goes to celebrate.

When Sherlock turns one hundred years old, he stays at home. He listens to the cars outside, and for the laughter and screaming of children. He doesn’t want to celebrate. Not at all.

John enters the first bar he finds and orders far too many drinks. When the barman asks him what the occasion is, John simply whispers, “a great deal of nothing”.

Someone knocks on Sherlock’s door around noon. He stays silent, doesn’t get up and keeps his eyes closed. If he’s lucky, he may even manage to disappear.

“Come on loverboy, let me take you home.” Her perfume is nice, John would love nothing more but to forget his problems in this woman’s arms.

At some point Sherlock finds himself thinking about his soulmate. He wishes he could shut his brain off.

John walks back home alone. Everything is blurry around him.

Both men fall asleep on their anniversary night the same thought in mind.

_Please, don’t make me go through another century alone._

 

***

**Six, 1983. Because of London’s finest men.**

The world around Sherlock is changing. Changing really fast.

Ten years ago Sherlock had chosen to start what you would call a new life. He had decided one evening that he could use his talents and abilities to make a living. He even invented the job: Consulting Detective.

At first it was not easy to find clients and gain the trust of the police. But if there was one thing Sherlock had learned all these years, it was to be patient. With time, more clients came and in after only two years Sherlock had formed a strong relationship with New Scotland Yard.

He was permitted to investigate crime scenes often now, and he loves it. No, he craves it. The deductions, the thrill of the chase, the puzzles. He lives for it. And after more than a hundred years searching for something unknown, Sherlock Holmes had found his work instead. That’s all he needs now.

“So, why did you call me?”

Detective Inspector Marks nearly drops his coffee as Sherlock sneaks behind him. “Christ Sherlock, you scared the hell out of me!”

“You should learn to be careful then, I could have been your suspect!”

“Right, thanks for that very useful advice...follow me.”

Sherlock likes working with DI Marks. He’s direct and doesn’t bother trying to make you like him. It’s rare for Sherlock to get on well with the police force. They usually don’t like when an outsider comes from nowhere and solves the crimes for them. But then, Sherlock doesn’t like them either.

“We found this girl in an alley this morning. A couple found her while they were going about their business. You can imagine their faces when they found her!” Marks laughs for a second before continuing, “Anyway, we have no idea who she is and how she died. No entry wound, no marks on her neck or signs of a struggle.” He stops, looking at the back of the alley. “A mystery this one.”

Sherlock only nods. He hasn’t had any puzzles for a long time now. It seems that criminals have become more and more stupid with years. Sherlock tries not to smile but he must have failed since Marks glances at him and says, “yeah, I knew you would like it”.

Turns out Marks was right. This girl’s case is a real mystery.

Sherlock has been working on her death for three days now, and nothing. He managed to catch some interesting details on the body, some strange dark marks all over her torso and legs, but nothing since. Marks and his team are still working on any possible witnesses to find the victim’s identity. Sherlock had gone back to his apartment and has not been out for two days now.

The few scraps information he has are taped on his living room wall and he spends all his time trying to make connections between them. He has explored every option; the inhabitants living near the alley, their criminal records and dirty little secrets, but nothing. He had checked in with the homeless people living nearby but none of them saw anything.

The last remaining option is that the victim’s death has to do something with her health. Sherlock has taken a sample of her blood and looked at it at home but he’d never seen anything like this. He needs more information about the victim’s blood. Quickly.

He could go to the medical school and see if he could find a doctor there, or at least a professor who could explain it to him. After all, they should be able to detect what was wrong and if it could have killed her. Sherlock stands up and is out of his apartment in no time. As soon as he closes his door Marks’s voice comes from behind him.

“Ah, Sherlock, I was coming to see you. We found out who our victim is: Jennifer Wellies, just begun her Search when she died. We visited her parents and they had the key to our little mystery...”

“She was sick!”

“Right, as usual. She ran away from home after she had the news, so that’s why we couldn’t find out who she was.”

“But what kind of disease, I’ve never seen it before.”

“The Americans have just discovered it, it kills faster than anything. They call it AIDS.”

Three blocks away John Watson enters the school’s laboratory and turns on one of the microscopes. He takes a sip of his coffee and gets ready for a long day.

 

***

**Revelations, at the right time.**

Sherlock doesn’t really remember when he realised his soulmate had to be a man., it was just something that he had accepted during his Search. Whenever he went out, women never made him think twice about his life. He didn’t need a physical relationship, he was perfectly fine on his own. Relationships are messy, people get too emotionally involved and sentiment turns them into monsters. Sherlock watches couples hurt each other all the time. How could he ever want something like that? However from time to time his eyes would linger on a man walking in the park or the waiter serving him a coffee. Sometimes desire would fill Sherlock’s mind and veins. This pure want scares Sherlock like nothing else. He wants to discover how bodies can become one, how pleasure can make your world explode. He watches people from afar and wonders about his soulmate. In the moments when the waiting takes over everything else, Sherlock imagines the way his soulmate would make love to him.

It takes a century for John to realise his soulmate may not be a girl. It’s common for soulmates to be the same sex but John always pictured sharing his future life with a woman. He’s certainly always been attracted to women, and not once had a man caught his attention. He’d never talked about it with his parents and when Harriet had found Clara he didn’t think once about his own soulmate’s gender. But as John lives through the seventies and the liberation movement, people around him open his eyes to new opportunities. He met James during a meeting and the man immediately made his intentions towards John very clear. John almost took pride in the man’s interest. They began to spend a lot of time together and John let himself explore. James kissed him and it felt nothing like a kiss with a woman. James kissed him and John loved every second of it. James introduced John to new kinds of pleasure, to new ways of making love, and John felt strong in the man’s arms.

 

***

**Seven, 2000. Because of too many drinks.**

John gets up at the eve of the world’s end. Tomorrow he will know a new century, the third since he was born. He tries not to think too much about it.

Today he only wants to celebrate. He wants to enjoy his last day in the twentieth century, and he has already made plans with some army friends.

John can’t wait to see what the new century will bring to the world. Computers and mobile phones were more and more common now, but innovation never stops. And of course medicine was also improving day by day. Yes, John can’t wait to find out.

John goes over his morning routine, jogs in the park and stays way too long in the shower. He decides to get lunch outside, as his small apartment is making him dizzy. The afternoon goes quickly; John had taken up rugby during his second time in medical school and today’s game helps to pass the time. He leaves his friends only to go get changed. He doesn’t want to stay alone too long. God knows where his thoughts might take him tonight.

The bar they find is already full of people but they manage to get a table. John buys the first round of drinks; he knows too well he will be too drunk later to even think of proposing it. People around them are laughing, exchanging new year's resolutions and making far too much noise, but John stays. He smiles as a young woman screams to the bar that she’s just got engaged. His mates are laughing and yelling their congratulations. He take another sip of his beer and joins them. He fears the moment when he’ll have to go back to his silent flat.

Timothy is leaning on his shoulder, talking about a girl he met yesterday.

“She’s my soulmate John, I’m sure she is.”

John lets him talk. Timothy meets his ‘soulmate’ every week and it’s never the right person. John sometimes thinks he’d like to be more like his friends. He’d like to meet new people every day and believe he’s finally met the one. Timothy sees every day as a new opportunity, John only wakes up wondering how long his Search will last. He doesn’t know if he could bear the possibility of finding out the person you thought was meant for you is actually destined to be somebody else’s.

When midnight strikes, John is being kissed by strangers. He smiles and lets people wish him the best. He returns the sentiment and tries to at least enjoy the moment. He really tries.

Sitting at the table behind John’s is a drunken Sherlock Holmes looks and now retired DI Marks. He doesn’t really know why he agreed to come here tonight; a last minute decision after realising he actually didn’t want to spend the evening alone in his flat. So he drinks and watches Marks trying to raise his drink and failing miserably. Sherlock only smiles.

Strangely, neither John nor Sherlock feels alone tonight.

 

***

**Resolution, for a time.**

It’s decided.

The Afghanistan war is last one John will ever enrol in. If he comes back from this one, he will give all his energy into the Search. This time he will really try to find his soulmate, even if he has to travel the world.

John Watson is going to grow old. No matter what it takes.

Sherlock Holmes is not sure he will ever grow old.

Cocaine had found its way back into his life, and he almost forgets about the Work. He gets lost in an endless dream where his mind is at its full potential, where his life is as it should be. But the Work comes back in full force in the name of Gregory Lestrade. The new DI looks at Sherlock and tells him to get out of his crime scene. Sherlock is too shock to even reply. It takes one week for Sherlock to realise he needs the Work more than the fix. Sherlock will not use drugs anymore.

It’s decided.

 

***

**Eight, 2010. The end of John and Sherlock’s Searches.**

John Watson comes back from the war, again, but this time he doesn’t come back the same man.

Time had changed, and now being a wounded soldier means you get to see a therapist every week and talk about the things you’ve seen, the thing you’ve done, the thing you can never really tell. But John learns and obliges. He walks every morning in the park next to his flat, trying not to remember the walk he used to make with his father in the very same park, hundreds of years ago. He goes to see Ella at eight thirty and tries, really tries, to communicate. She asks question, about the war, about his life, about his Search. So John smiles, looks down and says he’s going to really look for his Soulmate this time, that he’s trying. Ella nods, writes down her note and schedules another appointment. Never ending cercle

The air is warm when he goes out and John almost enjoys his walk. Most days, he walks for a while and then finds a bench, waiting for something to happen. He looks around and tries not to think about the cane by his side, constant memory of a lifetime spent fighting somebody else's wars.

“John! John Watson!”

John stops and turns around, surprised to hear his name. A man is looking at him and his face is somehow familiar. But then, John has met so many people in so many places, he’s not sure he could remember the name of them all.

“Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.” Right, Bart’s. Fourth times in med school. He remembers now.

“Yes, sorry, yes, Mike.”

Mike smiles, “Yeah, I know, I got fat!”

“No...”

“I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?”

“I got shot.”

John can tell he’s making Mike uncomfortable. He knows people don’t really want to hear about war stories - especially during this century, they’re used to their comfort - but Mike’s smile returns quickly and he’s already asking about John’s life now. They go for a coffee and this time John doesn’t sit alone. Mike stays with him for a long time and somehow, John is glad to have run into him.

“What about you?” Mike finally asks, finishing his coffee, “Just staying in town ’til you get yourself sorted?”

“I can’t afford London on an Army pension.” John remarks, trying not to sound too rough.

“Ah, and you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.” He laughs, “That’s not the John Watson I know.”

“Yeah, I’m not the John Watson…”

He cuts himself, looking down at his leg.

“Couldn’t Harry help?”

“Yeah, like _that’s_ gonna happen!” It’s been years since he last saw Harriet, already gone old despite the trouble with her Soulmate.

“I dunno – get a flatshare or something?”

“Come on – who’d want me for a flatmate?”

Mike smiles again.

“What?”

“Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today.”

“Who was the first?”

Mike’s smirk tells John everything he needs to know.

 

 

Sherlock looks at the blood sample through the microscope and frowns. This is not what he had expected. He hears the door opening and glances for a second at the intruders. Mike Stamford is walking in and not far behind him another man limps into the room.

“Well, bit different from my day.”

The man’s voice echoes in the lab and Sherlock looks up again. The man is still eighteen which means his Search in still on. He looks young but his eyes scream years of experience. Everything about him says army doctor, a really old army doctor. Sherlock can detect the trace of coffee on his shirt and a trembling hand. He can’t seem to take his eyes of him.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone?” He asks, forcing himself to look back at the cells. “There’s no signal on mine.”

He feels the stranger’s stare on him but doesn’t flinch. He waits and tries not to stare when the man offers him his phone. Mike introduces him, John Watson, trained doctor, as expected. Sherlock studies the phone in his hand, and deduces the owner.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

He can’t help himself, the need to impress John taking him by surprise. For the first time in years, Sherlock feels the need to prove himself. He knows Stamford’s brought him here for the flatshare, it’s really not difficult to deduce, but somehow he doesn’t know how to make sure John will accept.

“Afghanistan, but how-?”

“Since your Search is not over, our arrangement can only be temporary.” Sherlock cuts him, “I have no interest in finding a soulmate so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m sorry but what are you talking about?”

“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.” He turns around to look back at John, “Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

 

 

John turns to Mike, “You told him about me?” His friend just smiles. The man starts talking again.

“You’re clearly looking for a place to live since your army pension can no longer cover your expenses. Your shoulder injury keeps you away from the war so that’s not an option anymore. It appears that your love for London is too strong to consider living somewhere else. I’d say it’s because you lived here all your life and I believe it’s been a very long life.”

John wants to laugh. Here he is, talking to a stranger who seems to knows everything about him. A beautiful stranger. He looks at the man eyes and only see a blank mask. He remembers the man’s comment on his lack of soulmate and he’s certain the man’s Search has been just as long as his. The only time John sees such sad eyes is when he looks in the mirror.

“It was.” John replies simply and the man looks at him for a second before turning to get his coat.

“Got my eye on a nice little place in central London,” he continues. “Together we ought to be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

“Is that it?” John asks, not quite believing what is happening.

“Is that what?”

“We’ve only just met and we’re going to go and look at a flat?”

“Problem?” This man couldn’t possibly think John was going to agree to live with him just like that.

“We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name,”

John watches as the man steps closer to him, stopping just a metre away. He looks at him closely and John’s mouth suddenly feels dry. He can feel the man’s fierce concentration fixed on him, and John has never been more aware of his own existence. His breath hitches as the man begins to speak.

“I know you were born at least two centuries ago and so have been eighteen for a very long time. I know you’ve never really tried to look for your Soulmate, as a man who has fought in so many wars must be quite determined in everything he does. If you really wanted to find your Soulmate, you would have found it by now,” he pauses, still looking at John, and scans his eyes all over John’s body.

“How do I know you fought in many wars?” He asks and responds right away. “Easy. You’re leaning on your cane but you hate it. The mere thought of not being able to walk by yourself repulses you. It can only mean that you thought for a long time you were invincible, surviving war after war.” He exhales and John almost feels the caress of his breath against his face. “I think that’s quite enough, don’t you?”

Before John can think of moving, the man goes to the door. He opens it and leans back for a second. His eyes find John’s once again, “The address is 221B Baker Street and the name Sherlock Holmes.”

He winks and just like that he’s gone. In the distance John thinks he hears Mike chuckle, “Yes, he’s always like that”, but John’s world is spinning too fast for him to formulate an answer.

Later that day, as John is following this mad man around London, the same words echo in his head, repeating themselves over and over again.

_When you meet your soulmate you know it right away, John._

John runs faster. He wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He wants to take Sherlock by the arm and hug him for years and years.

_You will know it right away John. Right away._

 

***

**A lifetime, together.**

A week after John starts sleeping in the upstairs bedroom, Sherlock sits at the kitchen table and takes a sample of his own skin cells. He needs to know. He can’t continue to live with John and spend his day wondering What if. He’s a man of science, and the solution to his problem is right here.

He places the slide under the microscope and inhales deeply, getting ready for the truth.

He takes one look at his cells and leans back on his chair.

Sherlock is a week older. He wants to laugh but doesn’t. He’d better not wake John. He has found his soulmate and the man has already killed for him. His soulmate. Closing his eyes, Sherlock concentrates on his breathing. He needs to find a way to make John realise, to let him know that his Search is over. That, him, Sherlock Holmes is the person he has been looking for this entire time.

Sherlock realises his hands are shaking. John Watson is his Soulmate, the very same John Watson who had declared having no interest in Sherlock. He doesn’t even know if John likes men. Sherlock sighs. He’s found his soulmate, and still has no idea what he needs to do. Does he even want to tell John? Does he want to settle down, to be hold at night and spend the rest of his life with John?

When Sherlock finally turns off the light and goes to bed, his pounding heart is the only answer he needs.

Days pass, turning into weeks, months, and Sherlock still hasn’t done anything to breach the subject. John is now officially Sherlock’s flatmate and, slowly, they learn to live together. John gets used to the experiments and body parts in the fridge. Sherlock makes sure he doesn’t cross any limits, and as he watches John go to bed every night, he wonders if tomorrow he will have the courage to face John.

In the end, it takes one mad-man called James Moriarty to upset everything. Sherlock watches as John appears from the the shadows and his entire body almost gives up on him as he comes to the (incorrect) conclusion that the doctor had played a game since they met. Then he notices the bomb and the feeling is even worse.

James Moriarty introduces himself and Sherlock listens to his proposal. He listens but his mind already looking for the best plan to get them out of here. To get John out of here. Moriarty laughs, _I’ll burn the heart out of you_

Sherlock has never felt so afraid in his life.

A phone call saves their life and Moriarty disappears with one last threat. Sherlock doesn’t clearly remember how they manage to get home but he follows John past the door and into their flat without a word, mind racing with the events of the evening. John doesn’t turn the light on right away, remaining still in the middle of their living room for long seconds.

“John, I…”

“Don’t.” John cuts him off, “I don’t want to hear any apologies. Tonight wasn’t your fault just as much as it wasn’t mine. Understood?”

Sherlock doesn’t respond. John turns around and his eyes find Sherlock’s.

“What almost happened tonight, I don’t want to ever think about it again.”

“I agree.”

John is walking towards him and somehow Sherlock just knows he’s going to be kissed.

“I know who you are.” He can feel John’s breath against his lips as he speaks. “I’ve waited a very long time for you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock feels John smiling and he closes the distance between them. John’s lips are dry under his, and for a moment they remain unmoving, barely responsive. Sherlock's heart is pounding in his ears and his entire body tense as John pulls back. But he presses his forehead against Sherlock’s, one of his hands coming to rest on Sherlock’s neck and it lingers there, caressing Sherlock’s nape slowly. None of them say a word, John’s breath hot against his and the temptation to taste him again overwhelmed Sherlock. He carefully puts his arms around John’s waist and takes back his mouth.

This time John responds immediately to the kiss, the hand on Sherlock’s neck keeping their lips sealed together for long minutes. John steps even closer and Sherlock revelled in the embrace. He feels John’s lips moving against his and the wet touch of his tongue caressing his lower lip. John’s other hand comes to rest on his jaw, his thumb brushing his cheekbone and Sherlock lets John open his mouth. The kiss becomes seductive and Sherlock can’t believe how exquisite John’s taste is. How could he have waited for so long?

Sherlock breaks the kiss and the need running through his every bone terrifying. John is smiling, a smile that spread to his eyes and Sherlock claims his mouth again, making this smile his. They kiss for what seems hours, standing in the dark, but Sherlock wouldn’t stop for anything.

His world has never felt so right.

Later at night, when John is asleep in his arms, Sherlock thinks about all the times he spent waiting for this man. If somebody were to come at this very moment and tell him he needs to do it all over again, Sherlock wouldn’t change a single thing. Not one.

 

***

**Whispers, out of time.**

Sometimes at night, when the world is asleep, John and Sherlock catch up on all the time they lost without each other.

John talks about the many wars he’s fought; the real ones but also the ones within himself.

“I almost died three times. The first time was in 1882, a bad wound on my leg got infected and I owe my life to another doctor I was out there with. The second time was during World War One; a mine exploded next to the camp and the deflagration projected me over thirty meters. You know the third one.” Sherlock only nods, an arm splayed across John chest. His fingers linger on John’s scar and he closes his eyes, encouraging John to continue.

“What I really hate are the nightmares. They come and go but the worst ones are always about the war. Now I dream about being there again, bleeding out in the desert and knowing I’m going to die without having meeting you.” Sherlock looks up, his arm tightening around John’s waist. “I die out there, Sherlock. I die and never meet you.”

Sherlock tries to open to John too, to share his most difficult years.

“At first I think I was doing drugs just for the act itself, the act of defiance. I wanted to feel alive. It’s only after time that I realised I was just really trying to forget the loneliness around me.” John’s hands cup his face and soft lips caress his, “I felt so lost for so long that I don’t remember ever feeling complete or happy. I used to walk around the city without knowing where I was going or what my destination was. Drugs gave some sense to who I was. I had a purpose, something to wait for.” Sherlock shifts closer to John, “I was so tired, John.”

They confess their struggles with the Search, the fear they both shared all those years.

“I think I gave up on you for a time,” says John one night. His legs are tangled with Sherlock’s and he can hear his heartbeat with his head resting on the younger man’s chest. “I went to war, to school and I lived like that for so long. I thought it was supposed to be my life, fighting wars after wars.” Sherlock’s hands come to rest on John’s back, fingers tracing unknown patterns. John closes his eyes and lets Sherlock’s voice calm him.

“I told myself for a long time that I didn’t need a soulmate. I watched my parents stay eighteen all their life, never searching for their soulmate. They were so unhappy, John. I swore to my myself on my eighteenth birthday that I would never settle for anyone else but you. And you never came. So I just convinced myself that I was just fine living as I was.”

Most of the time they whisper the things they could never say otherwise. Sherlock is not a particularly demonstrative man, John knows that by now, but when there’s just the two of them the detective becomes the most attentive lover John’s ever known.

“I knew the day we met that you were my soulmate,” John confesses one night. Sherlock had just made love to him very slowly and John can still feel him inside him.

“Really?” He can hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice.

“You know it already don’t you? I’m sure you could tell that day.”

“I was so afraid you were going to leave after our meeting in Bart’s, I couldn’t think properly the entire time we talked.”

John turns to his side and watches his lover’s profile. “You were afraid?”

“Of course,” Sherlock looks at him, “Here I was, talking to a complete stranger and proposing a flatshare without knowing you. You had all the reasons in the world to refuse.”

“Like I could ever refuse you something,” John laughs and kisses Sherlock’s chest. He rests his head on the pillow again and Sherlock turns to face him.

“Our meeting was the day my life really began, you know that?” John adds after a moment and Sherlock nods before kissing him.

“I didn’t know right away you were my soulmate,” Sherlock whispers, “but I really, really hoped you were.”

“Lucky us then.”

“So very lucky.”

 

***

**A lifetime, together.**

Their life as soulmates doesn’t change a lot of things.

They still work cases, chasing criminals around London and getting into trouble while doing it, and John continues to blog about it. They spend endless night at the Yard, long days in stake out and John keeps patching Sherlock up afterwards.

No, it’s the small things that change the most.

They sleep in the same bedroom now, and John’s transferred all his belongings the downstairs bedroom. They still haven’t decided how to use the empty room upstairs but John is certain Sherlock will find a way to turn the room into a laboratory.

Sherlock told John from the beginning he preferred to keep their love life private and John had more than agreed. They don’t need to see their affairs on the front page of the papers, especially now that Sherlock begins to be really famous. Their closest friends know about their relationship, which is only what really mattered to both of them anyway. Still, they don’t get alarmed if someone catches them kissing in the street or dining together at a restaurant. John had made it clear he didn’t want to have to look over his shoulder every time he feels the need to kiss Sherlock.

In the months following Moriarty’s scheme at the swimming pool they meet the mysterious Irene Adler. John really learns what jealousy feels like as he watches Sherlock interacts with The Woman. She stimulates him in a way John doesn’t understand, and even though Sherlock comes to bed with him every night, John spends hours trying to figure out if what he could do to captivate Sherlock in the same way. Eventually Sherlock settles his worries by taking him to bed with the firm intentions of reaffirming who the person he truly cares about is.

If Sherlock had shared with John his inexperience in the area of romantic relationships, John had made sure he felt relaxed with him. They had taken their time and learned each other’s bodies over time, first outside the bedroom with casual touches and caresses. John had discovered how responsive Sherlock is when he nips at his neck, and especially when he kisses over the skin right under his ear. He particularly loves to run his hands through Sherlock’s curls when he’s thinking, head on John’s laps, face buried into his stomach. He always gets a small shiver from the detective and he knows that even if he’s stuck in his mind palace, Sherlock never really forgets he’s around.

Of course they spend hours locked in their bedroom, discovering each other with their hands, mouth and bodies. John had never had a lover like Sherlock before He spends hours cataloguing his every reaction to endless touches and kisses, massaging John’s back, marking his body with bites and scratches only to kiss them afterward. It often overwhelms him, realising how much Sherlock loves him, and John holds him tightly all night, whispering promise into his skin. Ifat the beginning their sex life only meant small and careful touches, time made them grew bolder. John will always remember the first time he went down on Sherlock. The noises he’d made, the way he’d moved, his hands in John’s hair, his hips moving in small uncontrolled thrusts. John only needed to hollow his cheek a little to make Sherlock squirm in bed, thighs shaking and back arched on the sheet. Afterward he only needs Sherlock’s capable hand to follow him into oblivion.

They had taken their time and one night Sherlock had murmured into John’s ears how much he craved for their bodies to become one. He used the most filthy and delicious words John ever heard, his hands smoothing over John’s body in teasing caress. They made love in the most common way for a first time, John insisting he needed to be able to watch him as he breached his body for the first time. He took his time preparing Sherlock with his fingers and Sherlock’s moans and whimpers had echoed the room and John’s head for hours after. When finally Sherlock had raggedly begged for John to push inside him, the sensation had taken them both aback. They’ve set a slow pace at first, their movements growing wild as they got closer and closer. Sherlock had come with a strangled noise and John’s name on his lips, and John had followed seconds afterwards, collapsing on Sherlock, panting.

Now Sherlock would initiate sex, no matter the place or time. John loves those moments; the rush of adrenaline and the danger of being caught, but he knows Sherlock really loves the times they spend in the privacy of their bedroom.

Sometimes John can’t actually believe this is his life. That his soulmate is this beautiful man sleeping next to him. And yet, he falls asleep listening to Sherlock breathing and to his warm body against him.

 

***

**Promises, sealed in time.**

John’s back hits the wall as Sherlock continues to ravish his neck. They had just solved a particularly difficult case and Sherlock is always greedy for rough sex after. Not that John is complaining. The detective’s hand takes hold of his arse and John locks his legs around Sherlock’s waist. Somehow, their height difference had never really been a problem, and John had discovered that Sherlock really, _really_ , likes to carry him. Every time they had sex outside of their bedroom, John would find himself in Sherlock’s arms, being carried around the apartment.

“Sherlock, fuck!”

Their crotches rub against each other and John arches his back, craving for more. He longs for more contact, more skin, more passion. His hands are already working on Sherlock’s coat and vest. Sherlock is still marking his neck, slowly making his way to his pulse point. He knows too well the noise John makes when he suckc just over it.

“You were brilliant today,” John murmures, voice filled with desire, “You were amazing”. John knows too well how Sherlock reacts to praise and he’s rewarded when Sherlock begins rocking his hips against his. John grabs his arse and rocks with him, trying to get as much contact as he can.

Sherlock stops his kissing and looks back at John. His eyes are darker than usual and John whimpers. He loves it when Sherlock get all turned on like this. He rests his forehead against Sherlock’s and pauses when their lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air. It always makes John feel dizzy; being so close to his lover, on the verge of intense pleasure.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Sherlock’s voice is rough and John closes his eyes, his breath hitching.

“And what are you doing about it?” He pants into Sherlock’s mouth.

John thinks he hears Sherlock growl before his mouth is being attacked again. Sherlock’s kisses are marvelous. He manages to show so much passion and love with only one kiss, John is always left breathless and shivering. When he finally gets Sherlock’s shirt off, John doesnt waste anytime before grazing his finger over his back, hoping to leave mark there that would take days to face.

“Sherlock, bedroom, please.”

Sherlock gets moving and John is being carried to the bedroom. Their lips don’t separate the entire way and soon John is being thrown on the bed. Sherlock stays on his feet, looking down at him. His breathing is ragged and John slowly removes his shirt, lciking his lips as he does. Sherlock loves to watch him undress. His eyes don’t leave John’s hands as they begin to open his trousers. John takes them off and stays in his underwear, his hands slowly caressing his bare chest.

“Care to join me?

“You will never understand the things you do to me, John Watson,” Sherlock growls as he crawls on top of John. He sucks at one of his nipples and John moans under the sweet torture. “I could do this all the time. Watching you, tasting you, making love to you.”

“God Sherlock, your voice,” John gasps as Sherlock’s tongue circles his nipple, teeth biting gently.

“But tonight I want you to make love to me, John.”

John whimpers.

“I want to feel you deep inside me. I want you to know how you make me feel. So complete John, so complete.”

John grabs his head and brings Sherlock’s lips back to his. God he loves this man. Sherlock’s tongue invades his mouth and John’s hands work on Sherlock’s trousers as fast as he can. When they’re finally both naked John pulls his legs around Sherlock’s hips again and thrusts up.

Sherlock’s moan resonates in the room and John keeps driving their bodies together.

“You’re beautiful like this love, so beautiful.”

“John, John...”

“I’m going to fuck you, Sherlock.”

“God yes, John.”

“You know what I really want right now, love?” Sherlock shakes his head, his fingers digging into John’s biceps. “I want you to ride me.”

Sherlock stops their movements and stares at John, his mouth open, astonished. Slowly he takes John hands, giving him the bottle of lube they keep under the pillow. John hasn’t even noticed he took it. He pours some on his fingers and Sherlock guides his hands to his arse. John slips two fingers in straight away; he knows Sherlock can take it easily. Sherlock never needs a lot of preparation, impatient as he is and John has learned not to make his lover wait too long.

“John-”

Sherlock kisses him and John adds another finger. They kiss, and kiss. When Sherlock begins to impale himself on his fingers, John knows he won’t wait any longer. He pulls them out and Sherlock breaks the kiss, whimpering at the lost. He lift his hips and takes a hold of John’s cock, and looking right at him, he slowly bares down. John tries not to close his eyes and stare back at him but the pleasure overtakes him. He throws his head back, hands moving to Sherlock’s hips as he sinks deeper and deeper.

“Perfect, love.”

John is fully inside him now and they stay still for a moment before Sherlock begins to roll his hips. He puts his hands on each side of John’s head and begins to bounce on his cock, John putting his feet on the bed to thrust up.

“John, John!” Sherlock moans loudly and John knows he’s found his prostate. He thrusts harder and Sherlock entire body arches above him.

“John, I need…need-”

“Yes love, yes.”

John slips out for a second and pushes Sherlock on his back. He settles quickly between his legs and sinks back in. Sherlock locks his legs around John’s waist and John keep thrusting. Sherlock’s voice fills John’s mind and he bends down to kiss him, hard. He slides one of his hands into Sherlock’s hair and brings the other one to Sherlock’s throbbing cock.

“John!”

He loves it when Sherlock can only say his name, when his hands are on his back, holding on for dear life.

“Come on love, just like this.”

He works his hand on Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock cries out as he comes over their stomachs.

“Fuck Sherlock, fuck…” John drives into him a few more times before coming too, spending himself inside his lover’s body.

“John…” Sherlock’s voice is low, just above a whisper.

“I know love.”

John pulls out and grabs his shirt to clean them, then drops it on the floor and lays next to Sherlock. The detective wraps himself around John and kisses him one more time. John rests his head on pillow and lets Sherlock’s breathing lull him.

“John,” it’s only a whisper but John places his hand on Sherlock’s arms to let him know he heard it. “John, marry me.”

Time stops. John opens his eyes and looks down at Sherlock’s serious face.

“I know we’re soulmates, and growing old together is what is waiting for us. But I want to make it official, to prove it.”

John stays silent for a few more second and then smiles. “I’ve never doubted your love for me Sherlock,” he brings Sherlock’s head towards his, “and yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

Sherlock kisses him and John wonders how this man managed to make every moment spend together the happiest time of his life.

“Promise?” Sherlock says softly.

“Promise.”

 

***

**A lifetime, together.**

Their marriage is quite simple. Sherlock had agreed to let his brother take care of the paperwork and finding the location. They’ve only invited Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Greg and Mike with his wife. John hugs Mike the moment he enters the city hall, whispering a ‘thank you’ in his ear. Sherlock only nods at him from afar but Mike gets the message.

Sherlock had of course insisted they needed to wear the same suits; a black and white one and costing way more than John can afford. Sherlock had ignored his complaining and John is actually quite happy he did. Sherlock looks stunning and from the way Sherlock eyes had scanned his body earlier, John was pretty sure he liked what he saw too.

“Oh boys,” Mrs. Hudson almost cries when they appear, “you both look so beautiful. I’m so happy to still be here to see it.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but John catches his tender smile as he hugs their landlady. Mycroft has taken the roll of wedding officiator and strangely Sherlock hasn’t said a word about it. When the time comes, everybody gathers in the small room and John goes to join his husband-to-be. They both agreed to write their own vows and John has been dying to know what Sherlock’s come up with.

“If you please,” begins Mycroft when they’re both ready, “we will begin the ceremony now.”

Their guests take their seats and it suddenly hits John that he’s about to marry his soulmate. He contemplates the man in front of him and has never felt more proud.

“We are gathered here to celebrate the union of John Hamish Watson and William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” Mycroft glances at John, “I believe the grooms have prepared vows.”

John nods and turns to face Sherlock.

“Since my early childhood I’ve seen people around me meeting their soulmates and finding real happiness. I’ve watched them grow old time and time again, truly believing one day my time would arrive,” he pauses, sensitive memories coming back to him. “When I finally turned eighteen I waited for a long time to meet the person who was supposed to be mine, until one day I realised I’d been waiting for decades.”

He looks up at Sherlock and doesn’t like the sadness written in his eyes. He reaches out for his hand and tries to reassure him. “At some point I stopped waiting for anyone to appear and lived my life without thinking about it,” John smiles fondly at Sherlock, clutching his hand more firmly, “and then one day I got introduced to this strange man who managed to read my whole life in only two minutes.”

Mike’s chuckles resonates in the room, quickly followed by more.

“I fell in love with you the moment we met, Sherlock. It only took one mad chase around London to realise you were what I had been looking for my whole life. There are still some moments when I can’t believe you’re real, and that you love me and want to grow old with me.” Sherlock smiles at him, his eyes watering a little. “I’ve never been happier than I am today, marrying you, Sherlock Holmes, my soulmate, my future, my love.”

He stops and Sherlock hesitates only a second before he leans in to kiss him. John shivers and nips at Sherlock’s lower lip before a cough interrupts them.

“I believe Sherlock has yet to speak before you can properly kiss.”

They separate and the whole room laughs. Sherlock pulls on his jacket to regain his posture. He looks at the floor for an instant before looking up, his eyes magnificent.

“John, life has a funny way of making us work for what we want. When I look back at all the years I spent without you, I can truly say I went down some dangerous roads,” he glances at his brother, Mycroft only nodding lightly.

“It took some courage and determination to find a way up. But believe me when I say that I would gladly go through all of it all over again if it meant I got to meet you in a laboratory in Bart’s hospital.”

He squeezes John’s hands, smiling, before he continues. “You never cease to amaze me, John Watson. You take all of my faults and work with them, never getting tired of watching me destroy our kitchen.” John laughs and Sherlock follows him. “You are all I could have wished for, and even more. I already made you promise to marry me, but now it’s my turn to make promises. I promise to never leave you. I promise to always take care of you, the best way I can. I promise to make you feel loved every moment of your life. I promise to stand by your side. Today I vow my life to you.”

They exchange rings with shaking hands and Mycroft has barely the time to declare them husbands before they’re kissing again. Sherlock wraps his arms around John and holds him tight, feeling delirious with joy. People are cheering around them but they can’t hear a thing. John keeps kissing his husband, his promises echoing in his mind like melodies.

 

 

Six months later Sherlock jumps off the very same building they met.

 

 

John hears people passing by outside the pub. He hears Greg telling him about last night’s football game. He hears but he doesn’t listen to a single thing. He keeps his eyes fixed on his glass, trying to resist the urge to drink. He needs to calm his drinking. Sherlock will not like it when he comes back.

“John, you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

John looks up and has the decency to look ashamed, “I’m sorry, Greg.”

“I understand, mate,” he sighs and contemplates his own glass too. “I know it’s hard to hear John, but it’s been two years now. You need to let go.”

John wants to yell. He want to scream that Sherlock is still alive, somewhere out there.

“I know.”

“Why don’t you begin by taking your ring off. Taking small steps, one thing at a time.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he can’t look Greg in the eyes, “I need more time.”

“You can’t still believe he’ll come back.”

John stands up, leaving cash on the bar for the drink. “John, don’t go. I’m sorry if I upset you-”

“It’s nothing, Greg, thank you for the drink.”

He grabs his coat and leaves. He knows the way to Baker Street by heart and desperately needs to calm down. He can’t believe how quickly people stopped believing in Sherlock Holmes. Sure, they all took his side when Moriarty turned out to be real. But one year after, they were all ready to forget about the great Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock can’t be dead. He doesn’t have the right to be dead. He promised John he’ll never leave him, he promised they’d grow old together. He can’t be dead.

When he arrives at the flat the front door is already open. He enters the apartment and thinks he hears Mrs. Hudson sobbing in her own flat. He considers going to check on her but he distinctly hears someone walking upstairs. He climbs one step and stops to close his eyes. He needs to control his heartbeat. The person upstairs keeps walking.

John climbs the rest of the stairs, breathing heavily. He can’t shut down the growing hope inside him. It could be Sherlock. His husband may have finally come back to him. When he pushes the door open John stops breathing completely. He enters the flat and hears a sharp intake of breath next to him. Without turning his head, John know he’s been right all this time. He stays still, one hand on the door handle. How can he be sure he’s not dreaming?

“John.”

The voice brings John to his knees. He falls down and a strong pair of arms catch him at the last moment. He hears himself sob and when Sherlock gets down onto his knees and takes his face in his hands, tears are running down John’s cheeks.

“John, open your eyes.”

John complies and for the first time in two long years he sees his husband’s face.

“Sherlock-” his voice breaks and finally Sherlock takes him in his arms. John buries his head in Sherlock’s neck and cries, afraid to let go.

“John,” he can hear the tears in his Sherlock's voice, “John, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t answer, not trusting his own voice. He wants to scream at Sherlock, punch him, ask him how he could do that. He wants to kiss him, he wants to kiss him for two straight years to make up for all the time they missed out on. He feels Sherlock getting up, gathering John in his arms. He lets Sherlock carry him to their bedroom. He almost laughs at the thought.

They lay down together and John lets go of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock’s arms are still around him but he lies back to get a proper look at his husband. “You’re really here?”

“I’m here, John,” he brushes his hand against John’s face, wiping his tears.

Anger fills John’s body without warning and he pulls himself out of Sherlock’s arms. He stands up and Sherlock’s eyes follow him.

“John?”

“You’re here. And may I ask where the hell you’ve been? How did you manage to survive your own suicide? You know, the suicide you made me watch!”

“John, I can explain-”

“I bloody well hope so! I can’t wait to hear all about it!” He paces around the room and watches Sherlock sit up on the bed. His stance says he’s in control but his eyes are devastated.

“I never meant to hurt you like this John. You have to know this. If I didn’t jump from Bart’s that day, Moriarty would have come after you. He would have killed you without any hesitation.”

John stops walking and focuses his attention on Sherlock.

“I jumped knowing I was saving your life. Mycroft and I knew for a time Moriarty was going to attack and we had to plan for any possibility, even leaving you.”

“There’s a difference between leaving me and making me believe you’re dead, Sherlock.”

“I know, but it was the only way. I had to be sure you wouldn’t come after me. I needed to take care of Moriarty’s web alone, and you weren’t safe with me.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Sherlock’s gaze leaves him, “but you have to know I would do anything to protect you. That’s what you’re supposed to do with people you love.”

“Do you know how many times I thought of joining you?”

Sherlock looks back at him with fierce eyes. “Don’t you dare talk about this, John Watson.”

“You left me with little choice, Sherlock”, he sits back on the bed. “You left me.”

“I was always coming back to you, I promised.” John feels Sherlock’s tentative hands reaching for his. John had almost forgotten how warm Sherlock’s hands are.

“I was completely lost without you, John. Those two years were awful to me too.” He sits closer now. John only has to glance up to meet his eyes. They’re shining with tears and John let his forehead rest against Sherlock’s.

“I missed you so much,” he closes the distance between them and brushes his lips against Sherlock’s.

“I missed you too.” Sherlock take his lips back and kisses him. A real kiss; a burning kiss.

A kiss that says, “ _I thought I’d lost you forever.”_

A kiss that says, _“welcome home, don’t you dare leave me again.”_

 

***

**A moment, one last time.**

“John, look at this! The bee landed right on my finger!”

Sherlock turns around to show his hand to John behind him, “I told you I can domesticate them!”

“It’s one bee, Sherlock.”

“Still, it’s a big improvement, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, love.”

Sherlock looks back at the bee still on his finger and smiles. They had come to Sussex a few years ago, when the work wasn’t an option anymore. Sherlock had always wanted to retire in the country to keep bees, and of course John had agreed. He’s been trying for weeks to domesticate some of his bees and John had watched him get attacked more times that he could count. But Sherlock Holmes being Sherlock Holmes, he keeps trying every day.

“I’m telling you, soon I’ll have an army of bees.”

“An army? Really?”

“Can you imagine how useful it could be? Imagine if we had a bee army back in the day!”

“I’m not sure how bees could have helped us solve murders, Sherlock!”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Of course, you have absolutely no imagination, John!”

He waves at their bookshelf, filled with the books John had written over the years. “I’ll never understand how you manage to sell so many of those!”

“Don’t mock my work love, I know you love reading them.”

Sherlock only smiles and looks back at his bee. “Oh, it’s gone.” He gets up and joins John at the table. “What are you doing?”, he asks as he rubs John’s neck.

“Hm, I’m just trying to get the Internet working.”

“We don’t need the Internet!”

“Says the man with a mind palace!” John smiles as he feels Sherlock’s hand getting lower on his back. “What are you doing?”

“Distracting you, obviously.” John laughs and he can feel Sherlock’s smile as he kisses his neck. “Come on, we could be doing some more interesting things right now!”

“Don’t you think we’re a bit old for sex in the middle of the afternoon?” John asks but he gets up and turns around to kiss Sherlock’s lips.

“I’ll never be too old to do anything with John Watson. I waited far too long for you.”

John smiles and kisses him some more. “I love it when you’re romantic.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to laugh. “I know you too well, John Watson. Now, care to join me?”

“Anywhere, love”. Sherlock kisses him. “Anywhere.”

At respectively sixty-eight and sixty-six years old (plus a hundred years or so), John Watson and Sherlock Holmes keep growing old.

Together.

 

***

  
**Opportunities, back in time.**

 

_Sherlock’s carriage hits John on the road and he meets amazing boy in London lying on the ground._

_Sherlock looks up to thank the person holding the door and loses himself in the boy’s smile._

_A dog runs into John legs and the owner’s eyes are the most beautiful things John has ever seen._

_On a warm afternoon, Sherlock gets up and follows the girl who has asked him to come and play. He follows her to his destiny._

_Nurse Jacobs doesn’t bother checking the room number and John watches as one weak Sherlock Holmes enters his life._

_Sherlock let his brother win for once and goes to war. Captain John Watson gladly accepts to take charge of the man coming to help them win the war._

_John decides to get out of class, he’ll learn what he needs to know on the field. He just needs to get out. And outside he finds what he’s been looking for all those years._

_DI Marks leaves his office one minute later and never catches Sherlock outside his place. He’s already getting answers from the most interesting army doctor in London._


End file.
